


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by abovethesmokestacks



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Advent Calendar, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Christmas in Brooklyn, Christmas in New York, Death (Character) - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, I am trying to cover all bases without giving too much away and I have no idea if I'm succeeding, M/M, not exactly a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 17,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: To Bucky Barnes, Christmas is kind of... meh. The holiday has lost most of the magic it used to hold when he was a kid. It's a hustle and bustle he doesn't care for, and that he has actively worked to avoid for while. And yet... And yet on December 1, he takes the train down to Dyker Heights, walks through the neighourhood to look at all the decorations."Sorry, this is gonna sound creepy, but are you by any chance Bucky Barnes?"And then someone comes along that makes Bucky think maybe the month won't be too bad after all.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 254
Kudos: 92





	1. Dyker Heights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is a crosspost from Tumblr. I posted it last year as a Drabble Advent Calendar and figured now is as good a time as any to make sure I get it onto AO3 as well. Strap in for 25 days of Christmas with Bucky and Steve, and let's see what New York City has to offer, shall we? As always when it comes to anything related to New York, my close and dear friend Loup helped me out in suggesting Christmasy things you can get up to in New York.

It’s… a lot. Bucky’s not sure how anyone can sleep in the houses with all those lights shining. Or how people could live with actual tourists coming to ogle their houses. Then again, he was here, too, so. Walking around Dyker Heights had been a Christmas tradition for as long as he could remember, being dragged around the neighbourhood by his parents with his sister in tow. It had seemed magical to him as a child, like the picture perfect Christmas house only multiplied, but now… 

“God, that is a lot of neon,” someone mutters next to him, and Bucky turns around. 

Next to him stands a man, about his height, blonde hair brushed back and shoulders pulled up to keep his scarf bunched up around his neck. His face is lit up by all the lights from the house they’re in front of, making his eyes reflect a rainbow of colours.

“Yeah, it’s… kind of an eyesore, I guess,” Bucky says, keeping his voice down and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Kind of a tradition, though,” the man counters, shooting him a wry smile.

“Right up there with getting a Christmas tree and ugly sweaters and avoiding mistletoes at any cost.”

The man laughs, turning fully to him. With only half of his face illuminated, Bucky can both marvel at the chiseled cheekbones and the brilliant blue of the man’s eyes, blushing when he realizes the man is holding out his hand for him.

“I’m Steve.”

Bucky fumbles to pull off his bulky mitten, shaking Steve’s hand, “Bucky.”

“Nice to m-” Steve halts, looks at him and tilts his head. “Wait, Bucky? You’re- Sorry, this is gonna sound creepy, but are you by any chance Bucky Barnes?”

It’s strange to hear his nickname from someone he doesn’t know. He’s only Bucky to his family, to a small group of friends. At work he is James, in every official record, he is James. This guy knowing his nickname… Bucky looks at him again, tries to search his memory for anything that could explain why this man seemingly knows him. Not from work. Not from his friends. Not from any of his, admittedly few, hobbies.

“Sorry,” Steve repeats, pulling his hand back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, it’s just- Wow, I can’t believe this. You were in the hospital when you were a kid for- shit, I don’t know if you ever told me, but I was in the room next to yours, and I’d-”

The memory hits like a bolt of lightning. “Steve… Rogers? You’d sneak into my room and eat my jello!”

“And also keep you company!” Steve holds up his hands in defense, and Bucky laughs. “Wow, how are you? What’s been going on with you?”

“Well, hell of a lot better than back then, that’s for sure,” Bucky tells him, looking back at the illuminated houses. “And, I don’t know, life’s been good? I work in Manhattan for a firm there, just… regular office work. Not sure if I spend more time at home or on the F train, but yeah… What about you, man?”

Steve nods ahead and they start following the crowd moving down the street, falling easily into step with each other. “Life’s life, y’know? It happens, and you’re not sure when it had time to happen. I swear, I feel like I took a nap at twelve and woke up at twenty-two. I got a job somewhere in there. It’s good though, get to work with people.”

“Yeah, that’s… that sounds good. You… You lived in Brooklyn, too, right? Back when…”

“Brooklyn Heights, yeah. Got a place in Bushwick now, ‘s not too bad.”

Bucky’s sure he’ll be forgiven for having an opinion about that, and he and Steve spend the next half hour arguing over which neighbourhood is the best, until they realize they come to a stop outside a house with a giant glowing snowman that they’ve already passed once. Bucky keeps laughing at Steve impersonating his neighbour, and Steve nods along when Bucky talks about his parents moving down to Florida and how that still isn’t as bad as his sister moving with her family to fucking Hoboken of all places.

“It was real good seeing you, Steve,” Bucky tells him later when they’re outside the 86th Street station.

“Same, man. Hey, let me give you my number, we’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

Bucky hands over his phone, watching Steve as he taps in his number and calls his own phone to get Bucky’s number. There’s a beat of awkwardness before Steve holds out his hand again, bringing Bucky in to dunk him on the back before he lets go and starts walking off, presumably to a bus stop. It’s… strange. Bucky usually drags himself through December as if it’s a chore, but as he sits in a crammed car, scrolling through his contacts list to find Steve entered himself as “Jello Thief” he thinks maybe this month won’t be such a damn pain after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes Bucky to Dyker Heights, a neighbourhood of Brooklyn famous for its over the top Christmas decorations. People really do tour the neighbourhood to look at all the the houses.


	2. Winter's Eve market

Nope, it’s bad. This was a supremely bad idea.

Bucky’s not so much walking as actively shoving his way through the throngs of people gathered for the Winter’s Eve market. Even Dyker Heights with all of it’s neon and over the top decorations is better than this. Dyker Heights is bliss compared to this. There are vendors everywhere, small stages with performers, kids screaming and running wild, someone is dressed up as Jack Frost and he is quite frankly creeping the fuck out of Bucky. If it wasn’t for the coat donation he’d seen to first thing when he got there and the tree lighting happening a little while later, he would definitely not have come here.

How does anyone get any Christmas cheer in a place like this?

Bustling his way up an alley of vendors, he finally finds a booth that sells hot apple cider, waiting patiently for his turn. The mug warms his hands, but all Bucky cares about is finding somewhere that isn’t so loud and crowded. He washes up on a street corner, standing with the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, sipping his cider and really wishing he could become a bear and just sleep this entire season away. 

It’s purely on a whim that he snaps a selfie with the now empty cup in front of his face when he’s back in the loud, blinking commotion again, heading towards the tree lighting. It’s on another whim that he opens a chat line to Steve and sends the picture to him.

_Me: I really shoulda brought my trusty friend Jack to this hellscape_

_img120219_081623_

He has barely put the phone back in his pocket before it buzzes.

_Jello Thief: I hear Jim is also excellent company._

_Jello Thief: Please tell me someone is actually keeping you company there_

_Me: Going alone is hereby sorted under “it seemed like a good idea at the time” and “reasons why my Christmas cheer prematurely died”_

_Jello Thief: I’ll put that on a t-shirt for you._

_Me: Please_

_Me: Also please tell me the tree lighting here is worth every ounce of suffering_

_Jello Thief: I mean_

_Me: Oh ffs_

There’s a brief break in their back and forth, and Bucky has time to shove his way a little closer to the stage, glancing down every so often to his screen. When the three dots finally show up again, he can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

_Jello Thief: Okay, so. There’s a hot chocolate tasting tomorrow at this place I know. Lot calmer, no blinking lights, few to no kids because spiked drinks, and you won’t have to go to it alone. Whaddaya say? Give Christmas cheer another go?_

_Me: You had me at hot chocolate. Where n what time?_

Somewhere, a woman counts down over the loudspeakers, and just as she hits zero the thirty foot tree lights up, casting its shine on the audience cheering and clapping. Bucky, on the other hand, has his eyes glued to his screen, not minding being jostled as he smiles at an address in DUMBO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the Winter's Eve market is held in Lincoln Square, and usually features vendors, entertainment and the coat donation Bucky came for  
> \- cider is such a weird drink for me, cider is the sparkling drink that you drink cold. Mulled wine is where it's at, just saying.


	3. Hot chocolate tasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the love! I hope this keeps warming you through December. ^_^

“I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”

Maybe Bucky is a little tipsy, and maybe that’s not the best idea on a Tuesday, but in his defense, he did not have time to eat a hearty dinner before he had to rush to the train so he wouldn’t be late. Steve had been waiting for him on the street corner off the station, and had surprised Bucky by pulling him into something that kind of felt like a hug, even if there was a dunk on his back. Not that Bucky minds that kind of thing. At least not from Steve. Which… is that weird?

Next to Bucky, Steve snickers a bit, an array of tiny cups and glasses in front of him.

Maybe it’s a little weird. 

“Why is it in a martini glass?” Bucky asks to derail the train of thought that would most likely pull into a station he did not want to visit right now. “And where do they even get martini glasses this tiny?”

“Told you this place was good,” Steve says, and Bucky looks at him. reaching for another tiny mug of hot chocolatey goodness. 

Maybe his brain is too fuzzy already, but it’s a weird thing to look at Steve and try to connect the dots between this man, who is objectively like something his sister would classify as Farmers Market Hot (there had been a screenshotted powerpoint presentation that Bucky understood maybe half of), with the scrawny kid that Bucky remembers from being in the hospital. That Steve had floppy hair, was drowning in the awful hospital gowns and, to Bucky’s best recollection, wanted to fight everything in the world.

“You told me this place would restore my Christmas cheer, there’s a difference. Oh Jesus, god, what was that?”

It takes everything in him not to spit out the mouthful of not-so-great hot chocolate all over the table and possibly onto Steve and his very cosy, very white knit sweater. That would be… unfortunate.

Steve glances at the tiny glass, and back at the counter where each kind of hot chocolate was labelled according to the glass it was served in, “I think that was the red wine hot chocolate.”

Bucky grimaces, pushing the glass as far away from himself as possible.

“Okay, no. That is a crime against hot chocolate, and not fit for consumption.”

Ten more hot chocolates later, they walk out into the night. Brooklyn feels chilly, and hazy from warm drinks and a variety of alcohols, Bucky thinks that maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe December has some good points, and he could almost get a little sappy walking the city like this, even more so if it was actually snowing.

It takes him until he gets home, shedding his clothes and shuffling into bed, to realize that “this” mostly includes Steve. That’s gonna be a problem. Probably. Bucky’s phone pings.

_Jello Thief: Hope you got home ok. Had a really great time tonight_

_Me: Yesh_

_Me: Yeah, me too. Home safe._

_Jello Thief: Maybe no more alcohol on a weekday?_

_Me: But it makes Christmas seem not obnoxious_

_Jello Thief: I’m hurt, I thought that was me!_

Well, _fuck._

_Me: You ain’t so bad, Rogers._

_Jello Thief: Now you’re just baiting me to prove myself_

_Me: Give it your best shot_

There’s a goofy smile on his face that stays on through brushing his teeth and crawling into bed to set his alarm. The last thing Bucky does before drifting off is to change Steve from Jello Thief to just Steve.

Oh, this is definitely gonna be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The hot chocolate tasting was inspired by the Valrhona Hot Chocolate Festival, which takes place not during December, but between January 17 and February 3rd. I did google a lot of crazy kinds of hot chocolate, and yes, there is a red wine hot chocolate. Which sounds highly sus to me. But it is a thing.  
> \- My hot chocolate of choice is hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnaps. It's kind of a tradition to bring flask of it when you go downhill skiing (i.e slalom) and drink it at the top before you start the journey downhill. A little liquid courage is good for the soul. Especially when said soul has to go down a mountainside on two glorified planks with two sticks to help you.


	4. Christmas-fucking-cheer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for the comments and the kudos, it means a lot, and it makes me smile so wide that you guys are enjoying the calendar!

Wednesday is not great. To be fair, Wednesdays have seldom been great as far as Bucky can remember, but today that fact is cemented. Bucky hauls his ass out of bed feeling worse after last night’s hot chocolate tasting than he ever did after any of the pub crawls he did during college. His mouth tastes like something died in it, but with a slight hint of cocoa, and the idea of putting on a suit and going to work has never been more unappealing. 

So, of course he does it.

And of course the MTA is a little bitch.

Scratch that, the MTA is a big bitch.

Bucky’s in a full sprint up the stairs at his station, and glares at anything with a santa hat as he surely breaks some law of physics trying to get to work on time. With a minute to spare, he dives into his office, slams the door and tries to convince himself today is absolutely not a mistake, he is not having a heart attack, and today is Wednesday, which means tomorrow is Thursday and then it’s blessed, blessed Friday.

“Jesus, Barnes, what’s gotten into you?” Sam, his co-worker and occasional thorn in Bucky’s side, asks once he has calmed down enough to feel steady among other people.

“Hot chocolate and Christmas fucking cheer,” Bucky bites back sharply, slumping down in the chair next to him with a grunt. Meetings are obnoxious.

“Man, I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole.”

Bucky gives a lurid grin and tucks a pen behind his ear just as their boss walks in, speaking far too loudly and being far too chipper for the midweek. Meetings. Who ever thought those were a good idea?

About halfway through the meeting, which Bucky has definitely missed about half of out of sheer boredom and a fair amount of fatigue, his screen lights up with an incoming message. Steve. Sneaking the phone underneath the table, Bucky slyly unlocks the screen to read the message.

_Steve: How you holding up, champ?_

_Me: In the immortal words of Murtaugh_

_toooldforthisshit.gif_

_Steve: Yikes. So, did I fail in restoring Christmas cheer?_

_Me: Hard to say, but I suppose I can give you another shot_

“Barnes?”

Being called out in a meeting is a little like being called out in class, only now it feels a bit more embarrassing. Sam elbows him, and Bucky almost drops his phone. He makes an excuse about getting an update from a client before browsing through the powerpoint slide and nodding along. Fucking meetings.

He doesn’t risk getting busted again for texting, but instead spends the rest of the meeting thinking about how he could see Steve again. It’s ridiculous. They haven’t seen each other for years, hell, for over a decade, and he’s acting like a lovesick puppy at the mere thought of getting to hang out with Steve again. They knew each other before Bucky had realized that he also liked boys, and he really needs to check himself. Maybe Steve isn’t gay. Or bi. If he keeps this up, Bucky knows he’s gonna be in for heartbreak, and he does not need that right now.

He needs a nice, normal thing you can do with a friend. Something Christmassy. Two guy being friends hanging out and getting that Christmas spirit

“The hell was that about in there?” Sam asks him when they walk out of the conference room an hour later.

“Told you, client.” Bucky shrugs his shoulder.

“Mmhmm…”

“Sam… what do you do with you friends in December?”

Sam does a double take. “What I- What?”

“Like, for Christmas,” Bucky clarifies. “Do you, I dunno, do something specific together?”

Sam peers at him, unsure whether Bucky is being serious or not, “Me and my brothers-in-law go get Christmas trees. Are… are you asking to come get a Christmas tree with us? Bucky, you hate Christmas.”

“I don’t! Christmas is fine, it’s just- Nevermind. Forget I asked.” He all but runs off before Sam can ask anything else, closing the door to his office once he’s inside.

_Steve: Lucky me. What are we doing?”_

_Me: Are you good at picking Christmas trees?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Too much of something good clearly spoils you. There once was a midsummer where I got real friendly with Pepsi and Captain Morgan, and let's just say those two have never met again. Especially not the Captain.


	5. Christmas tree shopping

This should be simple. You go to a plot in Sheepshead Bay, you look at some trees, you pick one out. You bypass the Douglas fir monstrosities that you don’t have the ceiling height for, you walk past the ones that are really, really tiny, and you use a friend to determine the perfect height and width.

It is simple like that.

Bucky thinks he’s got this on lock, and he’s had a very good time using Steve as his personal measure tape for just about every aspect of securing the perfect Christmas tree. Steve has been a good sport about the whole thing, standing next to the tree, on his tippy-toes next to the tree to reach the top of the tree, at one point even hugging the tree because Bucky just wanted to see if he’d do it.

The tree he’s got his eyes on is a six foot tall beauty that still smells of forest with crisp needles, and just wide enough that it’ll fit nicely in his living room, cramped as it may be. He’s even got a smile on his face when they flag down a salesman to get the tree netted, and that’s when it hits him.

“Shit,” he blurts out, making both Steve and the salesman look up at him.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, putting one hand on his shoulder, and Bucky thinks he might die a little.

“I have no idea how to get this tree home. I- Can I take it on the train? I think people might actually maul me if I haul a tree onto the Q train.”

Steve scratches the back of his head, and if Bucky wasn’t freaking out a bit, he’d tell Steve what a fucking dope he looks like. He should have known it wouldn’t be this easy. Great job, self.

“Um, sir…” The salesman waves at them, and starts pushing the tree through the netting machine. “We do deliver. Just fill out a form when you pay, and we’ll take care of it.”

He feels a little silly about his freakout, mumbling through the exchange at checkout. Heat creeps up his cheeks when the girl asks him if he needs a stand and he realizes, yeah, he does and oh, that guide about how to care for your Christmas tree is gonna come in so, so handy.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve leans in when they’re on the train heading home.

“Sure.” Bucky’s thumbing the folded up paper with instructions, glancing at Steve, who’s letting the Christmas tree stand sway in his grip.

“Have you… ever actually had a Christmas tree before?”

Steve sounds almost as embarrassed asking as Bucky feels when he gives a little chuckle.

“That obvious, huh?”

“I mean… a little?”

Leaning back in the seat, Bucky folds the instructions one more time, clenching them tightly, “Don’t get me wrong, we had Christmas trees when I was little. But dad would go out and get them and I wasn’t that into putting on all the tinsel and baubles and whatnot. It was more like… one day it was there and the next it wasn’t. And up until ma and dad moved, we’d always celebrate Christmas at their place, and now we all celebrate at Becca’s, so I haven’t felt like I needed my own tree.”

The speakers call out the next station, and people start moving around them, tourists making their way to the doors already.

“Ah. So I’m guessing you don’t actually have any Christmas tree decorations then,” Steve says with a wry smile.

“S’pose I don’t. But I think I have some microwave butter popcorn somewhere, I can go old school on this thing,” Bucky rebuts.

They ride the rest of the way in silence until it’s time for Steve to change trains. He hands Bucky the tree stand, then hesitates in his seat.

“Look, I think I have some leftover stuff for Christmas trees. My ma, she- we had a lot of it and I haven’t been able to throw it away. If you want to- I mean, you can say no, but if you want to, I can come by with some stuff for you tomorrow? Just some baubles and tinsel to go with your buttery popcorns.”

Every ounce of Bucky is telling him to decline. He got himself into this mess, the least he can do is fucking buy his own Christmas tree decorations. Or just have a Christmas tree with popcorn garlands that smell of artificial butter. But the little goblin in him that lives for every second spent with Steve takes over and he finds himself accepting the offer, telling Steve he’ll text him his address tomorrow when he leaves work. Steve looks so pleased with his answer that it has Bucky’s heart beating double time the rest of the trip home, and it’s still going when the tree arrives and the friendly guy from the Christmas tree company helps him set up the tree in his living room.


	6. Decorating the tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart soars every morning when I check and see you guys' kudos and comments and bookmarks. Ya'll are making my December awesome, so thank you!

4 pm cannot come soon enough. Friday, the happiest of days, slouches towards its end, and Bucky feels like he is about to start scaling the walls. Sam is in an annoyingly good mood, and it's hard to pinpoint why exactly that is grating on his nerves so much. The meeting with Alexander Pierce, one of his clients, is an exercise in divine patience and once the man has exited the office, Bucky has to go lock himself in the bathroom for five minutes to breathe and make sure his forced smile isn't permanent.

To top it all off, halfway through the day, it starts snowing. Not a light, cute kind of snowfall. No, the clouds open up their great, big maws and puke out snowflakes the size of cotton balls and fuck everything ever, the ride home is gonna be a nightmare. 

_Me: On the train now. FINALLY. If my blood pressure gets any higher, my ears are gonna start beeping._

_Steve: Breathe. The MTA can only be that much of a jerk._

_Me: not just the MTA, but thanks for your confidence in my ability to not be an ass_

_Steve: I believe in you. Packed and ready to go._

Bucky sends him his address, figuring it's a tossup who will make it to his apartment first. He just needs to get behind his own door, throw the locks and breathe very deeply. It'll be fine.

His socks end up soaked within one block of his station. Great. Bucky grits his teeth. It'll be _fine_.

No Steve waiting outside his building. His heart sinks a little, but he trudges in, and for the first five seconds inside his apartment, he just stands with his eyes closed. _It'll be fine_.

By the time Steve buzzes to get in, Bucky's changed out of his work clothes, has on a pair of ridiculous, fluffy socks that he bought just for shits and giggles and has even managed to clear up the disaster zone that was his sink.

"When you said just some baubles and tinsel, I kinda imagined like… not this…"

Steve, hair dusted with quickly melting snow, shrugs with a happy smile when he hands over a shopping bag full of decorations. There is tinsel spilling out from the top, a dull clinking of baubles and a rustling of paper. They go about decorating the tree with no plan and a whole lot of laughing when they have to untangle the mess of twinkly lights and maneuver around the tree to wrap them around. It's not the prettiest tree, but Bucky still loves it. It's his.

"You want something to drink? I got beer. Or water, if you don't want… beer." Bucky wants to slap himself. Way to be smooth.

"I'm good with beer," Steve says, his hands in his jeans pockets and does a discreet glance around the apartment.

"Feel free to look around. 'S not much, but, ya know. 'S mine."

Bucky heads into the kitchen before he can make things more awkward. There are exactly two beers left in his fridge, and he takes it as a sign. Bottles in hand, he takes a breath, returning to the living room. Steve has his back to him, crouched down by the horizontal bookcase. He turns when he hears Bucky, a book open in his hands.

"Find something interesting?" Bucky asks, holding out a bottle for him.

"No skeletons yet," Steve quips, rising to his feet again.

"I only put those out for Halloween, the rest of the year they're safely stowed away in my closet."

With a laugh, Steve takes a swig, then holds out the book. "I was kinda surprised you had this one."

It's the hardcover copy of A Christmas Carol, a gift from Becca. More of a prank than anything else. Bucky smirks, taking the heavy tome and turning the pages to find where he left off.

"Yeah, my sister got it for me for Christmas three years ago. She thought it would be funny. I keep saying I'll finish it someday."

"What's keeping you?"

Bucky hesitates. It's not that it's a terribly long story, not compared to Dickens' other works. It's just… He shrugs, handing it back to Steve.

"I don't know, it’s… I pick it up and I read a couple of sentences and I never really know what to make of it. Having to look back at your life and… look at the future. It’s… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll finish it before I turn into a Scrooge.”

Steve only smiles, sets the book down and takes a swig of his beer. “I don’t think you could be a Scrooge even if you tried to.”

“No?” Bucky snorts. “I already have a sketchy relationship with the entire month of December, so I’m not too sure. Before you know it, I’ll be bitter and old with my heart shrunk down to a lump of coal.”

The air shifts, and there is tension between them that makes Bucky want to desperately hide. He has to remind himself that this is not a fantasy, this is real life and Steve is his friend and he can’t go dreaming about things because the disappointment will hurt him more than anything else. But then Steve puts his hand on his shoulder with a laugh, and they look at the haphazardly decorated tree, and Steve leans in close to whisper:

“Not if I can help it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- much like Bucky, I, too, have also yet to make it through mr. Dickens' masterpiece. Same goes for Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. I think I started it in my second year of uni and that was........... a while ago.


	7. Ice skating in Prospect Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could bake all of you cookies, I would, because you guys make me days!

He usually sleeps in on Saturdays, but despite the late hour the night before, Bucky still finds himself awake just after 8 am. Steve had left just past midnight, and Bucky had gone to bed with A Christmas Carol, figuring that with the holiday near he could give it another try. In the end, he’d just browsed through what he’d already read, trying to jog his memory of what had happened.

The book is now lying opened and facedown on his bedside table, put there with little grace when his vision started blurring with sleep. Grabbing it, Bucky huddles back down under his covers, looking at the dog eared page. Jacob Marley’s ghost was bemoaning Scrooge’s life choices, and Bucky’s eyes were drawn to an underlined quote that he had no memory of marking down.

_“no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused!”_

Well, if that isn’t poignant.

Not poignant enough to immediately get out of bed and throw the world off its axis, though.

The quote simmers, and as the morning draws out into early day, Bucky tries to come up with something to do with his newfound purpose. He thinks back to his childhood, when Christmas was exciting, and every hour of December spent in school seemed a waste compared to the freedom he and Becca would have on weekends. The scent of cookies from the kitchen, writing wish lists for Santa, going skating at the rink in Prospect Park. There’s something he could do. Sure, he hasn’t actually stood on a pair of skates in years, but it can’t be that hard? Plus, he’d get out, and maybe this heavy feeling inside of him would let up a little. Fresh air, sunshine, all that jazz.

The skating rink at the park is packed, families and couples and friends swarming the two interconnected rinks. Lacing on his rented skates, Bucky wonders why he’s not done this before, why it stopped becoming a thing that he and his sister would do. It is such a simple pleasure, even if at its core all it is is going in a circle.

He falls on his ass the first time five seconds after stepping foot on the ice. And then again ten seconds after that. 

_Me: I have discovered there’s a reason it’s called just like riding a bike and not just like getting back on skates when it’s been over ten years since you last looked at a rink_

_img120719_011489_

_Steve: Are you okay????_

_Me: I’m good. Need a helmet for my ass though_

Steve sends through a flurry of emojis that Bucky thinks is supposed to mean something decidedly not-dirty.

He stays for another hour, slowly regaining balance and skills long forgotten until he’s sailing around the rink with ease. The sun is out, spreading a cold light over the park and making his breath fog a little. It rejuvenates him little, and he feels only marginally better when he hands back his skates and starts making his way back to his apartment.

Still.

It’s been a very good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I have been in Prospect Park once, although instead of skating, I was running a 5k in bonkers heat. And in brand new shoes. My feet hated me so much. like... SO. MUCH.  
> \- I have not ice skated in... a number of years. We're talking double digit number of years, which is ironic since I live in a country where hockey is a national past time and a downright holy sport. I may need to do something about that, too. Need to wait until we get proper winter weather, though. And get myself a pair of skates.


	8. Winter flu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My love for you is Christmas cookies, hot cocoa and all the good feelings in the world!

Sunday is not optimal. Bucky wakes from a sleep that feels like wading through mud to a sense that that mud may have invaded his head. Even tucked in under his covers, he still feels chilly, his joints aching. Great. He hasn’t had a bout of flu in two years, and now that it’s back, he can understand why people say the feel like they’re dying.

“Fuck this day…” he mutters, pulling the covers over his head and turning over.

Sunday can wait.

It’s past noon when he drags himself up to have a scalding hot shower and something to drink. Everything seems just a little more stupid than usual, and everything he tries to do ends in little mishaps. He stubs his toe, burns his tongue, spills tomato soup on his white t-shirt and all the while, his body aches.

_Steve: Wanna do something today?_

_Me: Would love to, but I think if I move, I’ll die._

_Steve: What? Why?_

_Me: I have consumption_

_Me: Or, you know, flu_

_Me: But consumption sounds worse_

_Steve: You have everything you need? Food? Tea? Meds? If you need anything, I can go get it for you_

_Me: I’m okay_

Bucky huffs. He has never lied more in his entire life, not even when his ma caught him sneaking in one night and he told her he was just checking that there wasn’t a burglar outside his window.

_Me: I’ve got everything I need. Don’t want you to catch this. Either way, I’m just gonna sleep the rest of the day, maybe call in sick for tomorrow, so I wouldn’t be good company_

_Steve: Ok, rest up and drink lotsa water. And, you know, throw yourself dramatically across the couch. I hear that’s what you do when you have consumption_

_Me: Yeah? Does it help?_

_Steve: No, but it looks good_

He orders in food for the rest of the day and tomorrow, soups of every imaginable flavour, and parks himself back in bed. A Christmas Carol is taunting him from his bedside table, but Bucky couldn’t focus enough to get through even half a page, and as the fever descends on him, he doubts he could even hold the book up for more than ten seconds. It’s enough of a struggle to send off an email to his boss about staying home tomorrow, and he’s already half asleep when he writes a shorter one to Sam, letting him know that their team will be one man short. 

Burritoed up in his covers with sleep descending on him, Bucky only has time to think, _‘well, at least it’s now and not on Christmas.’_ before he drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Flus are the devil and it's a minor miracle I have not had a single bout of flu this year, knock on wood. They are usually accompanied by superweird dreams, though, which is always a little entertaining


	9. Tea and Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am drowning you all in all the hearteyes. Thank you again and again (and again) for the love.

Bucky’s night is plagued by weird dreams. He may not trust anyone dressed as Santa ever again. The first time he wakes up, it’s just after 7 am, and he stumbles into his kitchen for a glass of water before shuffling back and falling back into bed with a grunt. He wakes again two hours later feeling like he’s been disassembled and then put back all wrong. More water, a painkiller and a choice selection of curses before he’s back in bed.

He wakes next to his phone ringing. Or, well, to Bucky, it sounds like screeching, and he’s ready to tell whoever is calling to take a long walk off a short pier. But Steve’s name flashes on the screen, and he’s scrambling to answer.

“-ello?”

_“Bucky?”_

Steve’s voice sounds concerned, and Bucky rolls over on his back. “Steve?”

_“Hi, I was- Sorry, were you sleeping?”_

Sleep. So glorious. So obnoxious. He still feels like he’s put back all wrong. Suppressing a yawn, he looks up at his ceiling.

“Just woke up,” he says, voice still a little gruff.

_“Oh.”_

“Steve?”

_“I’m… outside?”_

Bucky furrows his brow, “Whaddaya mean outside?”

The door buzzer goes off, making him turn into his pillow to groan. Steve’s gotta be shitting him. He’s not fit for company, neither in health, nor in appearances. Still, he drags his ass out of bed, grateful that he’s at least clothed, and opens the door for Steve, slouching over to the couch and collapsing there.

“Bucky?” Steve calls out after he’s inside and has closed the door.

“‘M here,” Bucky mumbles, lifting one leg to do an awkward wave. “Why are you here? Don’t you have work?”

Steve rounds the couch and comes to stand next to him, a brown paper bag in one hand and a takeaway cup in the other. “I was in the neighbourhood, thought I’d come by on my lunch break and see how you were holding up.”

“Well... This is me. I look like death.” Bucky tries to sound lighthearted, but a cough effectively puts an end to that.

Steve gives a smile, shaking his head, “I don’t think you do.” 

“Okay, fine, I feel like ass,” Bucky snorts, wrapping the covers tighter around himself.

“I feel like I need to recuse myself from commenting on that statement.”

Bucky huffs, and desperately wishes he had the energy to sit up. Or smile. Or keep his eyes open for more than five seconds. Steve sets down the cup on the rickety table in front of the couch, tugging at the blanket to make sure it’s covering Bucky’s feet. Bucky thinks he makes a sound, but he can’t be sure. But Steve has to be smiling and chuckling at something.

“I should go. Work waits for no man. Try to drink the tea at least, okay?”

“Mmhmm…”

“There’s a sandwich in this bag, I’ll put it in your fridge, okay?”

“Yes, ma…” Bucky mutters, not even trying to field the smack Steve lays to his arm.

“Jerk.” Steve’s voice is amused and he fusses with the blanket again.

“Punk.”

Steve begs off, and much as Bucky would like to just casually slip into a coma nap, he forces himself to sit up and drink the tea left for him. The warmth of honey, lemon and ginger goes down smooth and leaves him feeling almost a little woozy. Stumbling back to his bed, he naps throughout the day, eating his soups and watching some droning cooking show on Netflix while trying to fortify himself because he knows he needs to be back at work tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- As stated last chapters, weird dreams are a hallmark of my bouts with flu and the cold. The one about being disassembled and waking up feeling put together wrong is one of them. It was the weirdest thing ever and I had to go back to sleep and keep dreaming to be put back together again.  
> \- Petition for all of us to have a Steve to bring us tea and sustenance when we're ill. Who will sign?


	10. Ugly Christmas sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I keep repeating like a scratched record, but I so, so appreciate every single comment, kudos and bookmark. You are all amazing and I can't thank you guys enough.

The world is a dumpster fire and should be done away with.

Or at least that’s what Bucky thinks when he wakes up to his screeching alarm. His head still feels like it’s been filled up with lead, and should his eyeballs really hurt this much? And oh, fuck. He grunts when he looks at his calendar, shuffling to pull clothes from his wardrobe. The world is a dumpster fire and it is out to get him.

He grabs Steve’s sandwich to eat on the train over to work, bundles himself up in his coat with three scarves and a hat, and sets off. The train is louder than ever, and he has to turn up the volume for his headphones so they drown out the insufferable noise. He glares at a little old grandma who turns her nose up at him for eating, and takes a giant bite just to spite her.

_Me: There are olives in my sandwich_

_Me: How did you know about this?_

_Me: Who told you about my undying and eternal love for kalamata olives?_

_Me: Today started balls, but it’s almost only dick now because olives_

There is no reply from Steve, but it doesn’t matter. There are glorious, savoury kalamata olives in his sandwich and he pissed off a grandma. Tuesday is already looking a little better.

“Whoa,” Sam says when Bucky all but falls out of the elevator at their office. What in god’s name is he wearing? “You look like ass, man.”

“Takes one to know one, Wilson,” Bucky mutters, sweeping past him.

“At least I look better than you!” Sam calls back, and Bucky has to stop and look over his shoulder.

“Doubtful.”

Sam is wearing the most hideous sweater ever to emerge from a knitting machine. It is, quite possibly, a crime against yarn. It’s green, which admittedly is not bad, but then there’s a fucking Christmas tree pattern with actual tinsel and small baubles attached to it. It rustles and clanks with every move Sam makes, and Bucky can already tell that Sam is gonna be moving a lot in the two hours this nonsense ugliest Christmas sweater-contest will go on for. His own sweater is a monstrosity that he found at a flea market last year, but even that is not as bad as Sam’s ASMR nightmare. At least it’s warm and he can play at being the Grinch.

_Steve: Olives are good for you. The sandwich guy also said they make you beautiful, which now that I think about it may have been a backwards insult_

_Me: Go demand your money back_

_img121019_081547_

_Me: They clearly didn’t work_

_Steve: What the fuck is that??_

_Me: It’s torture Bucky-day, also known as ugly xmas sweater-day at work. You should see my co-worker. I wanna bring him up on charges_

_Steve: That bad?_

_Me: Hold on_

Bucky leans in his chair, opening the camera and zooming in on Sam and his godawful sweater. He’s not even a little slick about the whole thing, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t fall out of his chair, but he manages to get a decent, not-too-grainy picture of the tinsel monstrosity.

_Steve: Wow_

_Steve: That’s_

_Steve: Wow_

_Me: This is what I live with_

_Steve: From one thing to another. I was gonna go watch the tree lighting at Grand Army Plaza tomorrow. I feel bad asking if you wanna come along seeing how sick you were yesterday but..._

_Me: How about you text me tomorrow and we’ll see where I’m at? Ten minutes out in Brooklyn won’t kill me. Fresh air and all that_

_Steve: Fresh air? In Brooklyn?_

_Me: Punk_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Kalamata olives are my weakness. I could eat my weight in them, especially with some crackers and some fig jam. The comment about olives making you more beautiful was said to me years ago at a Subway and it took me until last year to realize it was kind of a backhanded comment. I just wanted a shit ton of olives on my sandwich.  
> \- Sam's ugly Christmas sweater... sort of exists. I googled a lot of ugly Christmas sweaters. It is also a very befuddling practice to purposefully make and wear ugly Christmas sweaters.


	11. Tree lighting at Grand Army Plaza

The world is still a dumpster fire when he wakes up, but Bucky thinks he might be hearing sirens in the distance. His fever is not as obnoxious, and if he has to eat soup one more time, he might revolt. He still feels sluggish, but somehow manages to be out the door earlier than he usually is, and he dips into a coffee shop near his stop to get a tea to drink on the train.

It’s a mercifully calm day, Sam is back in regular non-rustling business attire, and Bucky only cusses quietly to himself a handful of times. He orders lunch in, and although he can’t taste much, his burger is still the most delicious thing he has eaten in his entire life because it isn’t liquid mush.

_Steve: How’re you feeling? You up for Grand Army Plaza tonight?_

_Me: I think I can do that. What time?_

_Steve: Starts 5 pm_

Well, shit. 

_Me: Not sure I can make it in time for that, I’m trusting the MTA about as far as I can throw them_

_Steve: Tree’s still gonna look pretty when you get off work_

_Me: Text you when I start heading back?_

_Steve: Sounds perfect_

It’s just past 5 pm when Bucky boards the train back to Brooklyn, shooting a text to Steve that he’ll head straight for Prospect Park and should be there in just over half an hour. He feels a little less agitated, a little less weary of the world as a whole, and he watches the tourists cramming into the car, their chatter drowned out by his headphones. Two girls about his age sit down opposite him, talking animatedly and gesturing at each other, and it makes Bucky smile. It’s been a while since he saw his friends. Although…

Steve is a friend. 

All other feelings disregarded, Steve… is a friend. All feelings regarded, Steve… is still only a friend. It’s been a while since Bucky had someone solid and steady in his life. He’s had a couple of late night hookups, but nothing and no one that he’s woken up next to in a long while. He’s man enough to admit that he misses it, misses that kind of unconditional and unassuming intimacy. Waking up next to someone on Sunday morning and remembering full well how they got there. Someone to cook dinner with. Someone to go out with. Someone who worries for you when you’re sick.

Bucky has to shake his head before his mind runs away completely from him. He repeats: Steve is just a friend. Steve is just a friend who meets him right outside the station with two takeaway cups and smile that should be illegal. There’s something about the way the soft beige of his wool coat plays off of the gold streaks in his hair that makes Bucky speechless, and he’s quiet all through the short walk up to the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Arch. There are still people around, holding candles, huddled together, watching the tree and the nativity creche set out.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Steve asks, nudging him gently.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m okay,” Bucky flounders, drawing in a breath and taking a sip from the cup. Hot chocolate, not spiked, rich and creamy and warm. 

Steve rolls his eyes at him.

“Fine, maybe a little tired. But I didn’t want to miss this.”

“The tree’ll be here all month, Bucky.”

_‘True,’_ Bucky wants to say, _‘but you asked me to come today.’_

“I know that,” he says instead.

A smile tugs at Steve’s lips, and they stand in companionable silence, arms touching, no words necessary. They both know what Bucky really said.


	12. Secret Santa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all so so much for your feedback, and I hope your hot chocolate has extra whipped cream on it this holiday season.

Bucky can’t say he’s been looking forward to this day. It’s always a little awkward, he never feels like he succeeds at these things and every year he leaves it to the very last minute. Secret fucking Santa. He had been mortified his first year when he’d drawn the office receptionist, Wanda, and had spent a week in full blown panic trying to come up with something appropriate to give her.

Although this year is possibly worse.

He is Sam’s Secret Santa. _Sam_.

Sam is okay, he really is, all the jibing and teasing aside, but Christ almighty, it is impossible to shop for him. Bucky has come to realize he actually doesn’t know much about the man. He wants the gift to be personal, but appropriate for their relationship. He has drawn out buying Sam something to the point where he comes into work on the twelfth with no present yet and a blood pressure that is sky rocketing by the second.

_Me: I’m in deep shit_

_Steve: What??_

_Me: Secret Santa at work and I have not found a gift yet_

_Steve: When’s the big day?_

_Me: Um..._

_Me: Today_

_Me: At 2 pm_

_Steve: Bucky!_

_Me: I told you! DEEP DOO DOO_

Bucky knows he has one last chance to find something, and he’s gonna have to sacrifice his lunch for it. They’re in an area with a couple of good shops near, but it would save so much time if he knew what he was getting already so he could just run down, buy it an dash back and maybe have time for a shitty sandwich from the building cantina.

_Steve: Okay, what does your Secret Santa giftee like?_

_Me: Man, I have no idea. Been trying to find out, but I still have nothing_

_Steve: Okay, what’s his name?_

Maybe another time, Bucky would think twice about telling someone the name of his co-workers, but he is desperate. Minutes tick down and he’s eyeing the windows with ever increasing wonder at how many death by defenstrations there are in New York every year. He all but jumps out of his seat when Steve messages him back.

_Steve: Coasters shaped like old vinyls. All the classics. Having them messaged to you now_

_Me: What?_

_Me: Wait_

_Me: What???_

_Steve: Nothing a little Facebook stalking can’t solve. Sam likes old vinyls, I did a quick google, found a place in town that carries vinyl-shaped coasters_

_Me: Steve_

_Steve: You can pay me back another time_

_Steve: Or maybe come with me to the Nutcracker on the 20th?_

The messenger turns up not one hour later with a gift wrapped package, and Bucky signs for it, sticking a gift tag on it with Sam’s name on it and sneaks it under the faux-Christmas tree when no one (and especially not Sam) can see him. No defenestration today. Crisis averted.

Later when Sam opens his gift and crows at the gift, Bucky feels bashful raising his hand to reveal himself.

“Man, how did you know?” Sam asks, browsing through the different coasters.

“Someone I know suggested it,” Bucky answers truthfully.

He really needs to thank Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Despite doing a fair few fandom Secret Santas, I have never done one irl. It's not really a thing here, but I love the concept!  
> \- Vinyl-shaped coasters are a thing and now I can't remember how I figured they'd be a good fit for Sam


	13. Visiting family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are every happy holiday activity and you are the absolute best. Thank you for the comments, the kudos and the bookmarks!

“Unca Bucky!”

The second Bucky steps foot out of the terminal, he is ambushed by Georgie, Becca’s youngest. If it wasn’t such a hard fall, Bucky wouldn’t hesitate to topple over for the benefit of the little kid, but as it is, he lets out a dramatic “oof” and sweeps up his nephew.

“Hiya, Georgie.”

“You look tired.”

Bucky snorts, from the mouth of babes indeed. He tugs down Georgie’s beanie over the boy's ears.

“Well, your uncle had the flu earlier this week, so he didn’t sleep all that well. You should wear a scarf, buddy, don’t want you to get sick.”

He walks over to where Becca is standing with Georgie’s older sister Rosie, who gives him a hug. Or well, she gives his leg a slightly awkward hug. Bucky sets down Georgie and crouches down to give Rosie a proper hug, too. She’s a bit more shy than her brother, eight years old and the spitting image of her mother. Becca pulls him into a tight hug, and scolds him for taking too long to visit, and Bucky has to remind himself not to rip Jersey a new one right in front of the children.

“Mark’s at home preparing dinner, thought you might like some home cooking for once,” Becca tells him on the way to the car and Bucky puts his hand over his heart.

“Okay, ouch! I’ll have you know, I eat!”

Becca rolls her eyes, “Food ordered over the phone is only barely counted as food, Bucky. Ma would be appalled if she knew how you’re takin’ care’a yourself.”

“Jeez, I came out here to have a good time-”

“Finish that sentence and I will make sure you don’t get home tonight.”

They bump and nudge each other until Georgie decides he too wants to play and ends up missing Bucky’s leg and does a tumble right onto the cold ground, and only stops crying when Bucky promises he gets to sit next to him in the backseat. Of course, Bucky’s phone starts beeping the second they pull out of the parking lot.

_Natasha: need to cancel tomorrow. both of us down with the flu_

_Me: Had that earlier, it’s a fucking nuisance_

_Natasha: clint wants me to clarify that i have the flu, he has the man flu and that is worse and he demands last rites_

_Me: Pour coffee on him, that’s basically last rites for him_

_Natasha: is scott still coming?_

_Scott: sry guys, Cassie has a recital tomorrow, I thought the sing-in was Sat_

_Me: At least leave the foam finger at home this time_

_Natasha: and maybe bring kleenex_

_Scott: gdi just wait til you guys have kids_

“What’s got you all smiling?” Becca’s voice is teasing, and Bucky knows it all too well. It’s the reason his bedroom door had a huge dent in it when they were still living at home with their parents.

“Nothing. Just friends. We were gonna go to the Messiah sing-in tomorrow, but two are down with the flu and one forgot it was tomorrow and is going to his daughter’s ballet recital instead.”

Georgie looks up at him, all innocence and blue eyes and says with a toothy smile: “Mama says you need a boyfriend.”

“Georgie!”

Bucky is surprised his sister doesn’t slam the brakes, but she does look over her shoulder with a slightly panicked and a very stern look on her face. He can’t do anything but laugh, especially not after Georgie looks confused and adds, “or a girlfriend!”, which makes even Rosie laugh so hard she’s not able to stop until they pull up outside their house. Mark comes out to greet them, and Bucky feels himself relax little by little. It might be Jersey, but hell, it’s his family, and he can’t deny that he loves spending time with his niece and nephew and sniping over dinner with Becca. They sit down in the living room afterwards, Rosie on one side and Georgie on the other, both vying for his attention.

“So, as my son already broke the ice…” Becca says, fixing Bucky with a look that he knows he won’t be able to escape. “No one special in your life?”

“No…”

“He said, unconvincingly.”

Bucky groans. “I don’t know. I bumped into Steve two weeks ago-”

Becca’s eyes bulge, and she scoots forward on the arm chair. “Wait, Steve? There’s a Steve? Is he cute?”

“Becs! He- he was in the hospital same time as me,” Bucky offers.

“Back when… Like, way, way back?”

They don’t talk about it often. Becca was barely five years old and says she doesn’t remember much, while Bucky is just happy to have gotten out of the hospital. Although at the time he was bummed because he had to go back to school.

“Yeah. Had the room next to me. He’d come in and keep me company. Really small and skinny at the time, blond hair. Looked like a stiff wind would topple him.”

“Huh.” Becca cocks her head. “I don’t remember him.”

“Yeah, well, you barely remember last Tuesday, so I’m not surprised- Ow!”

Who knew throw pillows could pack such a punch?

When he leaves, he has to pinky promise Georgie that he will be back on Christmas, and Mark drives him to the ferry. It’s a calm ride over, and the chill of the air worms its way past his scarf when he heads to the train.

_Me: Hey, you wanna do something tomorrow?_

_Steve: What are you thinking?_

_Me: Belting out Hallelujah with a room full of people?_

_Steve: Count me in_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favourite chapters to write, I love Bucky and Becca to death, and right now it's making me miss my own brother. He lives in the neighbouring country and due to covid, he and his family have not been able to come home to visit as they normally would, so we haven't seen them in person in over a year. Fingers crossed 2021 will be better and we'll be able to see them again.


	14. Messiah sing-in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the scent of gingerbread, every favourite Christmas song and my annual Christmas movie marathon all wrapped up into one bunch of awesome people. Thank you so much for all the love!

All the seats are nearly taken when they get there, but Steve manages to spot two empty seats for them at the edge of a row towards the middle, and if they end up “accidentally” bumping someone, that can’t be their fault now, can it?

It had taken some time for Bucky to find the sheet music after he got home from Becca’s last night, and then some sly work on his part to copy it so no one would notice. The last thing he needs in his life is Sam or, god forbid, Stark to get on his ass about why he needs sheet music to Händel’s _Messiah_. There had also been a whole discussion about who would take the original sheet music and who would take the copy that only got solved when Bucky shoved the original at Steve’s chest and gave him a glare that sent Steve into fits of badly disguised giggles.

Steve is… surprisingly good. It had taken Bucky two sing-ins to realize he was singing the wrong voice and he still fudges a fair few sections, but _Steve_. Bucky is caught completely off guard and gapes through a good five measures and has to frantically try to figure out which Hallelujah they're on while Steve smirks at him.

"You could have told me you were good!" Bucky tells him under his breath as they walk out during the intermission.

Steve, because he is a humble bastard just shrugs his shoulders and it is so hard for Bucky not to crumple under the shy smile and the little tinge of pink on his cheeks. Handsome, talented bastard. Why is he even trying to deny it anymore? He is utterly and completely whipped for Steve and he doesn't care if he will end up crying into a box of fudge by New Years because of it. 

"That was fun."

They're all sung out, walking home and almost at Bucky's place, both smiling wide. Bucky is still quietly belting out Hallelujah. Going with Nat, Clint and Scott was always fun, but this… This had been something else. He's texting Nat, Clint and Scott to let them know how it was and that he's almost home.

"Yeah… Thanks for coming with me." Bucky pauses, bumps his shoulder into Steve's. "And for completely showing me up back there. What the hell! If you climb the stage and join the Nutcracker ensemble next week I’m rioting!"

"C'mon, you were good too!"

That makes his cheeks heat. Up until five years ago when Nat had first dragged the four of them to the first Messiah sing-in, Bucky had mostly sung in the shower. It hadn't sounded bad, but once he realized he could actually sing pretty okay (and in the right vocal section), he'd at least tried to rehearse and improve.

"Don't tell me you don't agree!" Steve continues, swinging around to walk backwards so he can look at Bucky. "I can see you still singing on the inside."

"I'm okay, I guess. It's fun."

"What's your favourite Christmas song?"

Bucky furrows his brow, "What?"

"Humour me."

He has a sinking feeling about where this is heading. "Um… I… I dunno, _I'll Be Home For Christmas_?"

Steve smiles, snatching the phone from Bucky's hands. Bucky barely has time to get out a yelp before Steve has the phone turned sideways and _oh, hell_.

"Sing it." Then, when Bucky glares at him. "Please?"

He really is too weak for Steve for his own good. Bucky avoids looking directly into the camera, pulling his shoulders up as he sings the first few lines. That is, until the very last line.

_"I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams…"_

He meets Steve's eyes for that one. His stomach does a somersault, and god, why must Steve be so beautiful? Bucky makes a face, asks if Steve’s happy and the man himself nods, not exactly smug, but definitely content, handing the phone back to him.

"Don't delete it."

Now he definitely won't do that.

There's an awkward moment on the curb outside Bucky's apartment building, neither of them really knowing how to say goodbye. They end up in a strange kind of hug, and though Bucky doesn't mind it, it's just… awkward. But still so good. Steve smells of cedarwood, warm and earthy, a scent Bucky that could drown in and that he misses when Steve starts walking down the street. He turns around one final time, pointing at him.

"Remember, don't delete it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Okay, so, it was brought up last chapter whether the boys were tenors or basses or baritones, and I did not really go into it, but if I may indulge my inner choir nerd, I would guess based on Chris's and Seb's speaking voices, they'd most likely land somewhere in the baritone range. Although, we've seen Seb belt it out and there are a few vids of Chris singing, so I could maybe see them as tenors, although towards the lower end of that range. Feel free to discuss, I'm curious to see if you agree or if you have a different opinion!  
> (- For anyone wondering, I am a second alto. All hail the vocal basement)


	15. Cold kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are seriously the best. I can't even tell you how happy it makes me to check my inbox every morning after I've posted a new chapter. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

For the first time all week he wakes up feeling fully recharged. No head ache, no joint pain, no shivering, nothing. It even feels borderline good to get up at 8.30 am on a Sunday. Remembering Becca’s dig about not eating well, he makes an effort to prepare something that is not leftovers. Maybe he’s being a little petty about arranging the stack of pancakes and the hardboiled egg into a pleasing display and sending her a snap captioned “proof that I am actually feed myself”.

_BecBarnes: Video or it didn’t happen_

_JBBarnes: Hdu doubt my skills in the kitchen??_

_BecBarnes: Because Georgie ratted you out about last time he and Rosie stayed with you._

_JBBarnes: Georgie! We pinky promised!_

Becca sends back a string of emojis that Bucky suspect is Georgie’s doing because they make absolutely no sense in context. He sends back a snap of himself eating a big chunk of pancakes, waving with his fork and making silly faces. Reminded of last night, Bucky pulls up the video Steve had recorded. He hadn’t even watched it last night, too happy and too tired to do much else but fall into bed.

_“-ing it. Please?”_

Bucky watches himself sigh, hair failling into his eyes as he starts singing. It doesn’t sound bad. A little restrained and he’s cheating a little on the low notes, but… He sounds okay. 

_“You happy now?”_

The image shakes a little before it cuts out, but Bucky can’t help but rewind to the last frame. Even if he is mock-glaring at Steve, he still look so… happy. It's not that he's been miserable before, he hasn't been, but the more Bucky thinks about it, he hasn't exactly been overflowing with joy either. Life has been a long, outdrawn mass of meh. He's tried to see Nat, Clint and Scott as often as he can, but most of their interactions have been through the groupchat and mostly to cancel or send a goofy pic from a trip. Hanging out with Steve has made him realize he misses the interaction, misses just having someone in the same room.

It's a Sunday as any other, nothing planned beyond a trip to buy groceries. Becca really got him good with the dig about feeding himself and Bucky is positive he will hear about it from their mother at Christmas dinner. He picks out ingredients so he'll be able to fix some decent meals in the next couple of days, stocks up on the basics.

He's a bit surprised to see a very familiar figure waiting outside his building when he returns. Steve gives him an awkward wave, shoulders pulled up and chin tucked down into his scarf.

"Steve? Jesus, how long have you been waiting here?"

"Um, however long it was since I had sensation in my cheeks?" Steve says, and Bucky can't help but shake his head.

"You coulda called, y'know?"

Steve gives out a sound that might be a shiver or might be a laugh, "Wanted it to be a surprise. Figured you have neighbours, one'a them would maybe let me in on their way out."

"We're all a bunch'a hermits here," Bucky jokes, unlocking the door for them both and stepping into the vestibule. "Come on, let's get something warm for you, you don't want to catch the same flu I had."

"Wait. I-"

Steve looks like he wants to say more, but the words won't come out. He frowns, lips pressing into a thin, determined line. Then suddenly he moves, two steps to close the distance between them and his cold lips press gingerly against Bucky's. It's a ridiculous stereotype, but Bucky can swear he rises to his tiptoes as if pulled upwards by the sheer joy coursing through him. Steve is kissing him. _Steve is kissing him_.

His brain engages and he kisses back, soft and gentle, too happy to do anything but bask in the moment. Maybe this is all he gets, he thinks, but damnit, he doesn't care. It's Sunday, his palms are screaming from having lugged the groceries home and the guy he has a crush on is kissing him.

"Hi," Steve murmurs when they part, both with pink-tinged cheeks.

"Hi." Bucky has to clear his throat, his voice feels like it hasn't been used in a century. "That was…"

Everything.

Steve smiles, looks down and squirms, "Something I should have done last night."

And there is that sweet smile that manages to be overjoyed and shy all at the same time. Steve kisses him again, shorter but all the more sweet and Bucky's head spins.

"I don't mind."

Steve leans his forehead against his, murmuring against his lips, "Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, shrieks and comments are all welcome!


	16. Christmas movies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kind words I get from you guys are enough to make me wanna shout from the rooftops. Thank you times infinity!

_“This feels wrong.”_

“I’m not the one who’s contagious, Typhoid Mary,” Bucky snipes, shoving a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.

_“Kids, play nice, or Santa won’t come on Christmas. And yes, I do know how that sounded.”_

_“Stop ruining Santa for me!”_

It’s possible that Natasha means to huff, but it comes out as a godawful hacking cough, and whatever she intends to say is effectively silenced when she just keeps coughing. She and Clint are both bundled up under a heap of covers, a box of kleenex tucked inbetween them, each holding a big mug. They had both insisted that their little gang keep up the tradition of watching Christmas movies together and had been the ones to suggest a conference call on Skype while watching movies online. Bucky had to hand it to them, it wasn’t the worst idea, especially not coming from Nat and Clint who were still battling a high fever.

_“Clint, you ruined Santa for yourself five years ago with the-”_

_“It was an accident!”_

“Guys, I love you, but if you don’t shut up, I’m ending the call and watching the rest of Die Hard on my own.” 

It’s not that Bucky minds talking during movies, he knows he does it himself, but come on. Some things are sacred. Scott mimes zipping his mouth shut, and Nat and Clint stick their tongue out at the same time in a way that would be scary if they weren’t also ensconced in a castle of blankets. Grabbing his phone, Bucky snaps a picture and sends it to Steve.

_Me: Watching the best Christmas movie ever_

_Me: And if you say Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie I don’t think we can be friends anymore_

_“What are you smiling about, Bucky?”_

It’s Nat, pointing at the camera. She is far too observant for her own good. Bucky hushes her, and she sticks out her tongue again. It’s silly, but he wants to keep Steve a secret for a little longer. It’s enough already that Becca knows, but somehow that still feels more justified, even if Becca hadn’t actually remembered Steve. He wants to keep this close to his heart, especially after yesterday, after the kiss, after Steve warming up with a cup of coffee, after a tight hug before he left and falling sleep with a smile on his face. He wants to keep this bliss for a little while longer.

They make it through Die Hard, and Die Hard 2 before Nat and Clint call uncle and they all say goodnight. Bucky shuts down his laptop, looks one final time at his phone. Still no answer from Steve. He furrows his brow, taps out a reply.

_Me: I wasn’t serious, you know that right?_

_Me: We can still be friends even if you don’t think Die Hard is a Christmas movie_

_Me: It was just a joke_

_Me: I’m sorry_

_Me: Sorry for blowing up your phone with texts_

_Me: I’m gonna stop now and go to bed_

_Me: Goodnight_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Die Hard is definitely a Christmas movie. So is Home Alone, although strangely enough, I associate it more with New Years  
> \- My own Christmas movie night is held all by my lonesome on the evening/night before Christmas Eve, and I watch The Polar Express, Arthur Christmas and Love Actually. What are your favourite Christmas movies?


	17. Christmas cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys continue to make my days and I can't thank you enough for your feedback. Oh, and for the movie tips!

“SOS, I need help.”

_“Bucky? What’s wrong?”_

Bucky wipes his brow, looking around the kitchen at the disaster zone he has created. This was supposed to be a good thing. Get himself into more of a Christmas mood, listen to some music, dance around the kitchen like they do in the movies, and then angel choirs would sing when he was done.

_“Buck?”_

“I’m failing cookies.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his sister is off like a shot, _“Jesus forking Christ, I can’t believe you called me and scared the becheesus out of me because of COOKIES. Do you have any idea the mini heart attack I just had?”_

“I didn’t know who else to call, okay? I’m making cookies and they’re coming out wrong, what am I fucking up here?”

_“You are so lucky I am not hanging up on you right this second,”_ Becca mutters before heaving a sigh. _“Go on, what cookies and how are they coming out wrong?”_

Jamming the phone between his ear and his shoulder, Bucky moves the baking sheet from the stove, glaring at the cookies on them, “My chocolate chip cookies are not spreading like they should, but my sugar cookies are spreading like they very much shouldn’t. I have a sugar cookie man that looks like something Frankenstein got his hands on and there is no amount of icing that can save this one.”

_“Were the chocolate chip ones meant to spread? ‘Cause you might have used a recipe that make them more cakey than crisp.”_

“Well, they looked more spread out in the pictures.”

_“Okay, do they still taste good?”_

He picks up a cookie, blowing on it and taking a small bite. Considering it’s the first cookie he’s baked in a couple of years, it’s not bad. A little fudgy in the middle, but still crisp on the outside.

“I mean, yeah,” he says between bites, “but what’s that got to do with it?”

_“So if they taste good, what does it matter what they look like?”_

Okay, that’s a fair point. The chocolate chip ones can stay. The sugar cookies on the other hand, will be sacrificed to the garbage.

“What about the others?”

_“Either you didn’t chill the dough long enough or the oven wasn’t hot enough. Or both. Why are you baking cookies by the way?”_

It’s an instinctual move. Bucky shrugs his shoulders and his phone slips from his grip, landing with a clatter, and he dives after it in a hail of curses. He can hear Becca calling his name.

“Sorry, dropped my phone. And I did chill the dough. Maybe not the full hour, but it was cold, it rolled out okay. The chocolate chip cookies were supposed to bake at 325° and the sugar cookies at 350°, I didn’t think there’d be that much of a difference.”

_“Oh, for fork’s sake… You still have sugar cookie dough left? Toss it to chill for the full amount of time, bake off all your chocolate chip cookies if you have any of those left and then up the oven temp to 350° and do not put those cookies in until it’s at that temp.”_

Much later, Becca gets a snap of a normal sugar cookie man iced with a sad face and with a hastily cut out speech bubble over its head where the words _“I wrong, sis right”_ have been messily piped. Bucky considers piping another one and sending it to Steve. There’s still been no answer, and there’s a churning sensation in Bucky’s stomach like something went wrong and he’s not exactly sure where. He’ll call tomorrow. Or maybe text. Yeah, maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once had the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe pinned. And then it disappeared, and I have no idea how to find it again because it had been a while since I vaked cookies when I went to look for the recie again from the board I'd pinned it to. So now I keep trying new recipes in the hopes of finding it or finding a recipe that is just as good. We are so far zero for an unknown amount of cookie recipes


	18. Visiting old friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of my heart eyes to you guys. You keep my heart light and make me smile.

He clocks out a little early to catch the express train home, packs up his cookies and jumps another train. It's been a good long while since he last saw either Dum-Dum, Morita or Gabe, and Bucky feels just a little bit of trepidation seeking them out now, and especially like this.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in!" Dum-Dum yells, voice booming as always when he steps foot inside the fire station.

It takes a while for Bucky to spot him, but soon enough his eyes land on Dugan, perched on top of one of the engines. With a whistle, the entire station is brought to attention, and from the subsequent whoops, it's safe to say that Morita and Gabe spotted him, too.

"And just what the hell kind of time you callin'' this, Barnes?" Dugan continues to boom, climbing off the engine. "Barely seen you since our high school reunion and now you just swagger in here like it's no big deal, huh?"

Morita is the first one to reach him, pulling him in to dunk him over the back, "Don't listen to him, he's missed you like an idiot misses the point."

"There may have been some Facebook stalking happening after the reunion," Gabe adds, shaking his hand.

"Oh, god, I hope not!" Bucky laughs.

"Someone had to keep up with mr. Hotshot-Too-Good-To-Work-In-Brooklyn," Dugan says with in mock accusation, pulling Bucky in for a bear hug.

"Better than going 'that's my future right there' after seeing a bunch of firemen setting off fireworks at a block party junior year," Bucky retorts with a laugh. "Say, how's that workin' for ya?"

"It would be going swell if it weren't for all these damn fires, that's for sure."

Morita gives Dugan a shove, "Saddest day of young, hopeful Timothy's life was finding out those firemen should not have been setting off those fireworks to begin with."

They jibe back and forth before Gabe has the sense to turn the conversation from mishaps of the past to present day, asking what brings Bucky to the station. Dugan declares him an honorary marshal when he sees the boxes of cookies, and saying he, as Chief, should have at least ⅓ of the cookies for himself.

It’s good to see them, and Bucky thinks his back may have been dunked out when he leaves, empty boxes tucked under his arm, one rattling with two cookies that Dugan sent with him “for the road”. He should go more often, they’re good people, and he hasn’t thought about Steve and the lack of response all afternoon. Although, when he returns home, it’s clear he won’t need to anymore.

“We gotta stop meeting like this.” Steve tries to laugh where he sits huddled on the steps to Bucky’s building.

Bucky sighs, sitting down next to Steve, “Do I need to remind you, once again, that I have a phone?”

“I know. It’s just… Crazy days at work. Sorry for not getting back to you. Guess I wanted to make up by stopping by, you know, in person. I’m starting to think you don’t actually have neighbours, it’s just you alone in this big house.”

It’s a sentiment meant as a joke, but it stings in a way that takes Bucky by surprise. He doesn’t really see his neighbours all that often, and if he meets one of them down in the foyer, he couldn’t with 100 % certainty tell who they were and which floor they lived on.

“Told ya,” he says, a little subdued, “we’re all hermits here.”

Steve gives a little laugh, nodding to himself. They sit in silence until Bucky picks up one of his two cookies and all but shoves it into Steve’s hand. 

“I don’t c-

“Do you w-”

Laughing, Bucky gestures to Steve to go first. 

“I’m doing this thing tomorrow. At the hospital we were both at. They’re having a Christmas drive for the pediatric ward, you bring a toy and it’ll be a Christmas present for one of the kids. Do you- Would you like to come with me?”

The lump in Bucky’s throat that’s been sitting there Monday slowly dissolves, and he gives a smile and a nod. Steve looks so damn happy, it feels like he’s going to burst. It’s a little too late for coffee or anything else, but Steve pulls him into a hug, warm and tight and fierce, before he leaves. Five minutes after Bucky’s kicked off his shoes inside, there’s a text.

_Steve: Thanks for the cookie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is back, guys, woohoo!


	19. Hospital charity drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kindness fuels me through these last stressful days before Christmas, and if I could send you all handmade truffles, I would. Thank you times infinity!

He ends up sacrificing his lunch to go shop for a stuffed animal that he can bring to the hospital. In Bucky’s mind, it’s a sacrifice well worth it. He remembers his time in the hospital as something of a blur, he went in and time passed and when he got out several months had passed. At first it was exciting, like a strange sleepover and feeling so grown up when his parents and sister would sometimes leave. There were times that were scary, he’d wake up and not remember going to sleep and the nurse would kindly explain that they’d had to call the doctors, but he was fine now. He always knew when he saw his mother after that something had happened that had not been fine at all.

“Needing a bit of moral support, Barnes?” Sam asks with a teasing smile when he gets back, a teddy bear jammed under his arm.

“Going to the hospital after work,” Bucky replies, and it’s almost a little satisfying to see the smile drop instantly from Sam’s face.

“I’m sorry, man. Anything serious?”

“Just gonna give back to the community. Everything’s fine.”

Everything is fine. Everything is fine, he goes home, changes out of his work suit and into something a little more comfortable and casual before he heads over to take the train to the Brooklyn Hospital Center, meeting Steve outside Nevins Street station. He’s got a stuffed bear in his hand, too, and Bucky can only imagine the picture they paint walking the final way to the hospital. It feels good, though, doing this, doing it with Steve. Not only because it’s Steve and Bucky wouldn’t mind kissing him again, but because it’s Steve and this place is shared history.

It’s a simple task of finding the place to drop off their stuffed animals, chatting a bit with the attendants and wishing everyone happy holidays. Bucky somehow feels like it might have been more dramatic. They linger outside the hospital, gazing up at the windows, some dotted with lights, others dark.

“You remember being here?” he asks Steve, standing pressed up against him.

“I remember thinking I’d do anything to get out.”

Bucky huffs, nudging Steve, “Yeah well, you certainly seemed to have plans to get yourself kicked out.”

“I was seven and bored out of my skull!”

“Like I wasn’t! And yet I was not planning on staging a mutiny on a weekly basis!” Bucky argues, and they both laugh at the memory or seven-year-old Steve making elaborate plans to break out of the hospital and saying he’d walk back home in the ugly hospital pajamas if he had to.

“Do you ever think about what could have happened?” It’s more of a musing than an actual question, and as the seconds tick by, Bucky thinks Steve might actually take it as such.

“Sometimes. Not a lot, but… yeah, sometimes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees movement. Steve’s waving, and he looks up to see who or what has got his attention. In a window on the sixth floor, there’s the shadow of someone, small hand waving down at them. That was him. The thought hits him out of nowhere. That was him up there once, and not even back then did he realize just how bad things were.

He barely registers when Steve grabs his hand, tugging at him.

“C’mon. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hospital in my area doesn't do this themselves, but you can usually find a stuffed animal drive like this one around Christmas time every year, whether it's via the work place or through a Facebook group or what have you. This year is, of course, different, but I love the idea of it, and once things start going back to normal, I'll be sure to contribute again.


	20. The Nutcracker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys so much for your incredible feedback and I wish I could hug you all.

"I feel a little… out of place," Bucky whispers, pulling at his tie.

He wears a suit to work every day, likes it to an extent, but dressing up and going to the ballet? That's not business as usual for him. The hum of muted conversations fills the room, excitement hanging over them as rows slowly fill out. Steve has gotten pretty decent seats, right in the middle and he looks so at ease leaned back in the chair. Bucky feels like his suit is suddenly two sizes too small, his tie too tight and what the hell does he know about ballet anyway? He got dragged to Becca's recitals when they were kids, but then she found something else that was more fun, and Bucky didn't have to roll his eyes through what seemed to him like silly jumping and tiptoeing anymore.

"You look great," Steve assures him, his eyes scanning the crowd and the stage. "Just think, you don't have to actually dance. I could have taken you ballroom dancing."

Bucky barely disguises his laugh as a snort. Ballroom dancing. He hasn't done that since Nat and Clint's wedding and Nat actually pulled him aside halfway through the band playing and kindly asked him if he was just nervous or if he didn't actually know how to dance because three out of her five bridesmaids had… voiced their opinion.

"Yeah, no, that would have been an unmitigated disaster. And I have that on good authority."

The lights start dimming, a hush falling over the audience. It's his first time at a proper ballet, and Bucly can't lie, it's pretty damn good. He follows the dancers with fascination, mouth falling open more and more at the grace with which they're moving across the stage. It's even a little funny to see the fight between the mouse king and the nutcracker and his soldiers.

He doesn't remember much of the second act, because Steve takes his hand, squeezing it every now and again. There are dances and they float together in a flurry because all he can focus on is his hand in Steve's, the ginger circles Steve is tracing over the knuckle of his thumb. It makes him dizzy, joy floating through him like bubbles and screw every old Christmas tradition, if he can only have this right here, he'll never complain again.

Steve shows him an acapella version of one of the musical numbers on their way home, and they hum and in one case, wail through it the entire ride back to Brooklyn. It's a drab night, normal by any weather standard for this season, but it doesn't matter. They're still holding hands, and Bucky is about ready to proclaim Merry Christmas from the rooftops.

"Thanks. For this. Tonight, I mean," he fumbles when they get to his building. He doesn't want to let go of Steve's hand.

"Of course."

"Maybe this could become a thing? You and me and The Nutcracker, followed by you and me and an offkey rendition of The Nutcracker on the train?"

He immediately regrets opening his mouth when Steve's face shifts. It's lighting quick, a flash of something that makes Bucky's entire being backpedal violently. He shouldn't have said that. Too soon. God fucking damn it, he wants to take the words and shove them back inside and then flee inside and-

But Steve.

Steve.

Steve steps up close, cups his face and kisses him fiercely, and Bucky's immediate response is to wrap his arms around Steve's waist. Handholding is fine, but this. Bucky wants this to become a tradition. He's allowed to adjust his goals, and his goal for the rest of his life is to kiss Steve and feel the universe quake around them.

Bucky swears he doesn’t mean to, but the second they part the air is heavy between them, his mind is foggy and it slips out: “I love you.”

It’s sudden, a drunken confession with cottoned senses and he squeezes his eyes shut. Too soon too soon too soon too-

“Oh, Bucky…”

Steve pulls him in for a hug that feels eternal, like an answer in and of itself, complete and wordless. They rest their foreheads together, breathing the heated air between them before the cold forces them apart. Steve bids him goodnight, and Bucky wants to say it won’t be as good as it just was. His apartment feels cavernous, empty in place of the intimacy that was. Bucky falls asleep tightly wrapped in his covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I love The Nutcracker, and I have a special place in my heart for the animated version, and my new lifegoal is to at some point in my life see The Nutcracker ballet  
> \- The acapellla version they listen to is Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy by Pentatonix. I die a little every time I listen when Avi drops to his lowest note


	21. Cold shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, I love you guys. Remember that. I love you a lot.

Bucky wakes up to his door buzzer going off. It’s not one or two buzzes that pulls him from sleep, but an incessant flurry of them. If this is Ritchie from 3C, he is not above tearing the moron a new one. Rolling out of bed and grumbling curses under his breath, Bucky stalks over to the intercom, growling out something that could possibly be construed as a greeting.

_“Bucky?”_

“Steve?” The grumpiness is gone in a second, replaced with confusion. “Did we- Were we supposed to meet?”

_“Can I come up?”_

Oh. Bucky hasn’t heard that kind of urgency before in Steve’s voice, but it makes his stomach churn. It’s… wrong. He buzzes open the door, unlocks the door and goes to pull on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Steve’s pacing around his dark living room when he gets back.

“Steve? Not that I don’t like you coming by, but… What’s going on?”

“I shouldn’t- This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Steve mutters under his breath, running his hands through his hair, gaze flitting around the room.

“Steve, pal, it’s okay, we don’t have to-” The words ring false even as he says them, and Bucky thinks he should have known this was too good to be true.

“I had one job, I had one goddamn job and then you- and I- Shit!”

“Steve, we don’t have to be together, it’s fine, I’ll survive.”

That stops Steve right in his track, and the frenzy bleeds right out of him, replaced with a sorrow that if possible cuts deeper than the implication that Steve doesn’t want to be with him. Bucky can feel a lump building in his throat, and god, let this be quick and let him be able to keep his voice steady until Steve has left. He clenches his fists, waits for the final rejection.

“That’s the thing, Buck…” Steve’s voice is soft as silk, and when he meets Bucky’s eyes, Bucky wants to look away. “You won’t.”

“What?”

Steve sinks down on the couch, cradling his head in his hands, “You won’t survive this, because… because I’m your death.”

Bucky feels like the world is coming to a stop, and not in any of the good ways, “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“I’m your death, Bucky. Four days from now, you will die.”

“Steve, I swear to god, if this is some kind of joke, I’ll-”

Steve looks up again, pain marring his beautiful face, “It’s not. I wish it was but it’s not. I’m your death, I- We come to people before their time is up and help them. We give them… closure. A good, last couple of days or weeks. We’re there when it happens, so no one is ever really alone.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. This is preposterous. It’s madness, it’s-

“Bucky…”

“No! I’m not gonna… gonna die on- Jesus Christ, I’m not gonna die on Christmas Day and you’re not fucking death, Steve. I know you! We- we were at the hospital together! You had the room next to mine and you were gonna jailbreak and walk back home in the ugly pajamas and-”

Steve interrupts him, voice calm, “Becca didn’t remember me.”

“How did you-”

“And if you asked your parents, they wouldn’t remember me. I’m not _the_ death, Buck. I’m your death. You were supposed to die when you were a kid, I was supposed to help you because you were alone so much and a hospital is a scary place. But you got better. Miraculously so. You got better, and you forgot about me because I was not really there for anyone but you. But here’s the thing about death, Bucky, it comes for everyone.”

“Stop it.”

“Please, I’m so sorry-”

“Stop!” Bucky yells, startling Steve and he’d feel smug about it if it wasn’t for the panic rising in his chest. “Okay, stop! I can’t fucking tell if you’re serious right now. For fuck’s sake, Steve, you’re telling me I’m supposed to die on Christmas Day. I’m supposed to go to Becca’s to celebrate Christmas with her family, why the fuck would you say that I’m going to die and you’re my death? What is wrong with- How can you say you were never there, I remember you! We’ve been hanging out all month, we went to the fucking Nutcracker yesterday! We kissed!”

Steve pulls out his phone, “Call me.”

Inexplicably, Bucky does. He finds Steve’s number, presses the call button and waits for it to ring. Steve’s phone screen remains dark.

_“We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel-”_

“But- but the texts-” he sputters, tapping to bring up the message history.

Steve’s eyes are looking red, face a stone mask and voice dead when he answers, “A neat trick.”

“Why.”

“I told you, death comes for-”

Bucky shakes his head, “No. Why would you do this? Why would you let me think you loved me?”

“Because I do!” Steve rises up, tries to step up close to him, but Bucky starts back. “I do, I’m- I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. You gotta believe me, I-”

“Get out.” Bucky looks down, crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Buck...”

The pleading tone sets him afire, and he crowds up against Steve, screaming as he herds him towards the door, “Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” 

Watching Steve finally break, tears running down his cheeks, hurts and yet he keeps going, keeps screaming for Steve to get out and to never come back, screams it one final time as he all but pushes Steve out the door and slams it shut. He feels sick in the deafening silence that follows, waits for a knock on the door, or a final plea, but there’s nothing. Looking out through the peephole, he sees nothing but the empty hallway. As if Steve was never there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry. Really. I tried to tag without giving away too much, and I hope you'll bear with me for the last few chapters.


	22. Missed messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you, I love you, I love you. Keep holding onto that.

_Fifteen unread messages_

_Steve: I’m so sorry, I should have just told you from the start_

_Steve: We’re not supposed to, but it would have been kinder. Fairer, too_

_Steve: Bucky, I’m so sorry_

_Steve: I really can’t apologize enough_

_Steve: I was supposed to make this easier for you and I just screwed it up_

_Steve: I thought I could do it, and things would be fine_

_Steve: I didn’t mean to fall in love with you_

_Steve: I don’t regret loving you. Please know that. I don’t regret any of the times we hung out. I don’t regret kissing you._

_Steve: I do regret not saying it back to you_

_Steve: It feels wrong now to say what_

_Steve: But I hope you know_

_Steve: Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so sorry_

_Steve: I love you_

_Steve: Please, at least let me know you’re okay_

_Steve: Bucky?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me.


	23. Brooklyn Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... I still love you guys, okay?

The messages remain unanswered.

He calls in sick, and with how rough his voice sounds, if they don’t believe his e-mail, he could probably convince him through the phone. All of yesterday was spent curled up in bed, tossed between despair and anger and grief. 

He can’t be dying. It’s impossible.

He’s fine.

He’s not going to die on Christmas Day.

Steve.

Why would he be so cruel.

He’s not dying.

He didn’t die then, and he’s fucking not about to do it now.

He’s too young, and-

And then he thinks about his parents, about Becca and Mark and Georgie and Rosie, and the idea of dying and leaving them behind is enough to make him cry. He can’t leave them, doesn’t want to. He can’t be dying. He doesn’t want to die.

Christmas Day. 

Who the fuck is that cruel?

He doesn’t want to die.

The walls start closing in around noon, everything in him aches and he feels wrung out. He needs to get away, get out of the apartment. Brooklyn feels colder, and Bucky walks around the neighbourhood in a daze, straying further and further away. He supposes he should end up in a church, praying to God to spare him, to let everything be a cruel joke and to let him live. Instead, he ends up on the Brooklyn bridge walk, hunched over on a bench while tourists and locals pass him by. It’s strange to be up there again, he hasn’t been in years. Getting to Manhattan for any reason is just more convenient via train, no matter how much of a pain in the ass the MTA is. The wind is cold and unforgiving, making Bucky pull up the collar of his coat to escape the chill seeping into his bones.

His phone starts buzzing, and for a second he wants to throw it away, thinking it is Steve. It doesn’t exactly get better when he sees “Mom” flashing across the screen.

“Ma?”

_“Jamie?”_

Despite his nickname sticking with him and becoming more of a name than his actual name, his mother still insists on calling him Jamie. 

“Hi.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Is everything okay?”

_“Why wouldn’t it be? I just wanted to say the gifts you sent arrived today, I know you want to know if they got here okay. Where are you, it sounds like you’re in the middle of a storm?”_

“Out for a walk, ma. Needed some fresh air,” he says, and an image from his childhood flashes through his mind, his mother’s face lined with worried and cheeks streaked with tears. Hospital. _You were supposed to die._ He swallows hard. “So… you and dad ready for the holidays?”

_“Oh, you know your dad, he’s been ready for two months already. Please, tell me you’ve not been sitting inside watching tv all the time.”_

Bucky manages a low laugh, “No, I promise. I’ve… I’ve been havin’ a real good December, ma. I went to Dyker Heights, just like we used to when we were kids. And… I went skating.”

_“Sk- You went skating? Who are you, and what have you done to my son?”_ his mother exclaims, laughing in his ear, and god, please no no no he doesn’t want to die

“Yeah. Fell on my ass. I baked cookies, and I went to this charity thing at the hospital.”

_“What charity thing?”_

“Oh, at… at the hospital. Where I- Brooklyn Hospital Center. They had this… this Christmas charity drive where you could bring a stuffed animal for the kids in the pediatric ward.”

_“Oh, Jamie… That’s really sweet of you. I wish they woulda had those when you were in the hospitals. Woulda served you better, I think you got really bored there."_

Bucky shakes his head. “Well, it was a hospital and I was eight.”

_“Oh, sweetheart, you didn't like it one bit. Nor did I, for that matter. You had a… like an imaginary friend or something? I don't know, something that kept you busy, because you could still have the biggest grin on your face…"_

Bucky tunes out the rest, his heart beating double time. _They wouldn't remember me._ Little Steve, pale with a body that looked like it could snap any moment, drowning in the ugly pajamas. _I'm your death._ Steve with the blue eyes and the laugh and the harebrained schemes that made Bucky double over and forget about tests and waking up in pain and his ma crying. _It comes for everyone._

_"...gosh, it broke my heart whenever we had to leave you and whenever you-”_

"I'm fine, ma," he consoles her, and he wonders if she can hear just how hard it is to say the words right now.

_"You are. You got better."_

The first tear rolls down his cheek, falls and lands on his knee. He needs to say something. He's supposed to say something. Swallow. Breathe. Smile.

"I gotta go now, ma. Tell dad I said hi, okay? Becca and I will call on Christmas."

_"I love you, Jamie."_

He can do this.

"I love you, too, Ma."

They hang up and Bucky sits for another thirty minutes on the bench. No one asks why he is crying. He half expects to see Steve outside his door when he gets home. It's quiet inside.

He's going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to New York in 2019, and although we stayed at hotels in Brooklyn, and we hung out with my friend who also lives in Brooklyn... I never actually went to walk the Brooklyn Bridge.


	24. Midnight mass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me, even though this twist packed a wallop. Today is Christmas here in Finland, so I'm in the spirit, and I hope this chapter will feel a teensy bit kinder.

_Me: 1230 65th Street 11pm_

Bucky half expects Steve to just pop out of thin air, but he can hear the heavy doors open, can hear the shuffle of steps, can feel the pressure of a body sinking down next to his in the pew. His presence should make him uneasy, he is sitting next to death after all, but as every other time he has hung out with Steve, Bucky feels nothing but a sense of safety.

"I didn't think I'd hear from you again," Steve says quietly, looking right ahead.

"Can you blame me?" Bucky retorts, drawing in a deep breath. "You told me I was gonna die, that you were… that you were my death. It's kinda a lot to take in."

Steve finally turns, his hands twitching to touch, but he keeps them folded on his lap. A bit of desperation is still evident in his eyes, his lower lip a deep pink he has been biting it. 

"I'm really sorry, Bucky. You gotta believe me, I did not mean for this to turn into such a mess."

Bucky huffs, wringing his hands, "I was just supposed to die in an orderly fashion?" 

"That's- well, yeah. I would still have been there, just… in a different way. I was supposed to make this month special for you. Happy. And spending time with you, it's- Buck, it's been the best month in my existence. It was so easy to fall in love, I- and I really do love you. Nothin' about that was a trick."

Bucky only nods, turning his gaze ahead, to the ornate altar at the front. The pews are filling up, the atmosphere same-but-different when he thinks about the Nutcracker and the Messiah sing-in. He shakes his head, his lips pulling into a smile.

"Buck?"

"Man, you really f...udged me up. I don't know if I'm still okay, but… you gave me the best December ever, Steve. And that's without me being a dumbass falling in love with my death."

"Language!" Steve hisses at him, nudging him.

They sit quietly until the mass begins, rising as one. Steve slips his hand into Bucky's, giving it a light squeeze. He does most of the singing, Bucky content with listening, watching, just feeling Steve pressed up next to him. Neither of them goes up to take communion.

"I still don't want to die," Bucky whispers during the hymn sung by the rest of the congregation.

"I know. I wish I could change it," Steve whispers back.

"Do all people have their own death?"

"In a way, yes. Not all of you meet it, and not all who do realizes it."

"Have I been talking to a ghost all these times when we've been out?"

Steve thinks for a few seconds, biting the insides of his cheeks, "No. I have been real. More real to you. People have seen me, I have just not been remembered. But to you, I have been real, always."

He wants to ask more questions, but the mass resumes, and a wrinkly old lady is already staring daggers at them. They stay on their best behaviour until mass ends and they step out into the dark night. Surprisingly, it's Steve who asks the first question.

"Why this place?"

Bucky shrugs his shoulders, "I suppose I wanted to make my peace. And we're back to where we met, almost. Thought it was fitting."

Steve gives a laugh, the air turning to smoke, and he looks so real, so ordinary, so perfectly normal, and yet-

"What happens tomorrow? Or, you know, later today? Will I… Please, just don't make me die in front of my family."

He's pulled into a hug, Steve tucking him into the crook of his neck where it's warm and safe.

"You'll make it home. I can promise you that. I won't be - couldn't be - cruel to you."

Bucky nods, straightening again with a sniffle. He declines Steve's offer to follow him home. He needs to do this alone. Brooklyn is cold, more quiet than he's ever experienced it. The train is nearly empty and each street corner on the short walk home is a bittersweet goodbye. He cries silently into his pillow until he drifts off into dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The church Steve and Bucky goes to is the Basilica of Regina Pacis, located in a neighbourhood called Bensonhurst pretty much sandwiched between Dyker Heights to the west and Gravesend to the east
> 
> Midnight mass is another foreign concept. We do have Christmas church services here, but they're usually morning masses and noon services.


	25. Christmas day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for coming with me on this ride. Thank you for all the comments, for the enouragment, for the trust that even with that twist, I'll somehow tie this story together. I hope I succeeded. I wish you all Happy Holidays. If you want to, you can find me on tumblr under the same handle.

It’s a strangely normal day, all things considered.

Bucky wakes up to a sunny morning, has breakfast, packs up the presents he’s bringing and begins the journey to Hoboken. Becca picks him up, sans kids, telling him that Mark has taken them to the rink so they can bleed off some energy and save them all a lot of grief later. It’s so normal. He sneaks his gifts in under the tree with the others, helps Becca out in the kitchen with a lot of sniping about not wrecking dinner.

“You managed to fudge cookies, Bucky, you are not coming anywhere near my turkey. I have half a mind to ban you from anything based on mom’s recipes!”

“So that leaves nothing, then? Great, I’ll just crack a beer and take a nap on the couch,” Bucky shoots back, keeping an eye on the carrots he’s chopping for the stuffing.

“Set one foot outside this kitchen and I will carve you a new one.”

Mark, Rosie and Georgie get back after noon, and Bucky is tackled to the floor by a five-year-old high on Christmas cheer. Rosie even joins in when Bucky starts calling for mercy, and Becca finally has to grant him permission to leave the kitchen so the kids can show him what they got in their Christmas stockings.

So normal.

It’s Christmas dinner and calling their parents in Florida and opening gifts and hot chocolate until Georgie starts nodding off. Bucky doesn’t want to leave, but it’s getting closer and closer to 10 pm and if he wants to be home before the day ends, he has to leave now. Becca tries to get him to stay, and as if sensing something is off, she drives him to the train, hugging him tight before he gets on. At their first stop in the city, he feels someone sit down next to him, and he barely looks up until he hears a voice he’s learned to recognize by now.

“Merry Christmas.”

Steve.

“I’m cutting it close, I know,” Bucky mumbles, worrying the handles on the bag of gifts he’s got with him.

“It’s okay. It’s your last Christmas. We’ll make it home.”

The train pulls into the next station. Two women get off, three men enter.

“Why did you call me your life?” Bucky asks, looking over at Steve, who smiles soft and meets his gaze.

“It’s what you are to me. I am your death, you are my life. It’s… an indisputable fact of the universe. It’s why it’s not great that we fell in love. Our… lives, for lack of a better word, never seem to end happily. Got me in trouble.”

Bucky crooks an eyebrow. “Really?”

“After our first kiss. When you said you loved me. I knew it then, hell, I knew before that I was yours, heart and soul and every unfathomable thing in the world, and…”

“We’re not supposed to fall in love,” Bucky finishes with a nod.

The train clacks down the stations, slowly making its way to Brooklyn. They are the only one in the train car when they exit, walking through a nearly empty station and through quiet streets. Bucky doesn’t even ask if Steve wants to come in, just takes his hand and leads him up to his apartment. The day is almost over. There’s a pajamas among the Christmas gift, a patterned number with cosy fleece pants and a t-shirt, a gift that Becca had whispered to him Georgie had wanted Santa to give him. He changes without a word, crawls into bed and looks at Steve.

“There’s an inappropriate joke in there somewhere,” Steve huffs out.

“Haha, now get in. Some of us are dyin’ over here.”

It’s a frail smile that paints Steve’s features, but he obliges. He toes off his shoes, curls around Bucky, kisses his forehead and tucks him under his chin. There is no heartbeat, but there is warmth, a quiet, intimate kind that Bucky clings to as the minutes tick down.

“Will it hurt?” he asks, not quite able to keep his voice even.

“No.”

Bucky squirms loose of Steve’s hold, looks up at him with naked fear in his eyes. “Will you be there? When… When I…”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies honestly, running gentle fingers down Bucky’s cheeks. “You’re my first. My only, I think. But… if I can do anything about it, I’ll be there. To the end of the line.”

Bucky stretches up for a kiss, tears finally escaping as he accepts that nothing will change. He doesn’t want to die, but if this is how he will go, he couldn’t ask for more. They kiss like there is all the time in the world, like this is not the end of the world, merely the end of a night. Steve’s hands come to cup his face, satisfied little breaths fanning Bucky’s face. Finally, he settles back against Steve’s chest. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

“Could you… could you sing for me?” he asks quietly, closing his eyes.

For a second there is nothing. Then, Steve starts humming before words colour the melody.

_“I’ll be home for Christmas… you can count on me. Please have snow and mistletoe and presents by the tree… Christmas Eve will find me where the love light-”_

* * *

_"Steve... Steve? Steve!"_

_"Bucky."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I googled or asked for this fic:  
> \- NYC subway lines  
> \- Christmas happenings in NYC  
> \- hot chocolate varieties  
> \- hospital pediatric ward charity drives  
> \- where do you skate if you don't want to get skint at Rockefeller center?  
> \- is it possible to get home to Brooklyn before midnight on Christmas day if you've spent the day in Jersey?  
> \- can you volunteer at a fire station?  
> \- cookie troubleshooting  
> \- if a neighbourhood in Brooklyn was limbo, which one would it be?  
> \- the automated message you get if a number is not in use  
> \- does NYC and Brooklyn in particular usually get snow in December?  
> \- where can you buy a Christmas tree in Brooklyn?  
> \- what's the general protocol for calling in sick in the US?  
> \- is midnight mass held on the night between Christmas Eve and Christmas day or the night between Christmas Day and Boxing Day


End file.
